


Summer Wine

by crowmunchies



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Ableism, Ableist Language, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, I made up a house lol, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Multi, Slow Burn, Tags Are Hard, Tyrion Lannister Deserves Better, idiots to lovers, lots of italics, mlm author
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 02:16:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29769174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crowmunchies/pseuds/crowmunchies
Summary: Tyrion goes back to Kings Landing with the rest of them, having already seen The Wall. As a result he meets a unique Northerner, and many things change.Or:Two bros, chilling in Kings Landing. Three feet apart cause they’re kind of gay-
Relationships: Arya Stark & Original Character(s), OMC & lots of ppl, Sandor Clegane & Arya Stark, Sandor Clegane & Original Character(s), Sansa Stark & Original Character(s), Tyrion Lannister & Original Character(s), Tyrion Lannister & Sansa Stark, Tyrion Lannister/Original Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	Summer Wine

**Author's Note:**

> I’m years late to this Fandom,,, uh this was one of those 3 in the morning plot bunnies. Lemme know if there are typos, constructive criticism is appreciated; but this was some self indulgent crap anyways! :D

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A beginning

“We’re bringing the Ashwood boy, also.” 

Catelyn Stark blinked. “Lord Ashwood’s oldest?” 

“No, his second-born. Heikki,” Ned pulled his cloak on, and pinned it with his new badge. He grimaced at himself in Catelyn’s vanity. 

“He’s six-and-twenty years now, and he’s a good sword, tall like his mother. Has her dark hair, too,” Ned sighed. “I don’t trust Lannisters or their men.” 

Catelyn nodded, once. She was resigned to her husband's departure, but no less sad. Bran was still in his sickbed, and Ned and the girls were to leave this very morning. 

“It would be a small comfort, to know you have loyal men with you in that place,” She decided, and stepped forward to fuss with his pin. 

-

Heikki had ridden down to Winterfell three nights ago on behalf of his house, when they’d gotten word of young Bran’s fall. His youngest sister Johanna had been devastated at the news of her friend, and had thrown a spectacular tantrum when she was told to stay home.

He couldn’t blame her; Heikki had been to visit the boy. Comatose, sunken-eyed, and pale as death. Bran Stark would never walk again, if he woke up at all. 

So, Heikki had offered his services to Lord and Lady Stark, and bid them a good night; though Catelyn looked as if she hadn’t slept in weeks. On the way to his lodgings, Heikki encountered a very large man, with a strange scar. He was piss-drunk, asleep in the corridor. Heikki draped a blanket over him. 

The next morning he visited the Stark children. Arya was as energetic as he remembered, she still pulled on his hair when he went to greet her, and called him “Kiki”, as all his own sisters did. Sansa had grown into her status as a highborn lady. She was polite, asking after Helka and Annika, his other sisters. Little Rickon didn’t remember him, but giggled at his stories all the same.

Robb and Jon were glad to see Heikki, remembering him fondly as the older boy who showed them to pinch sweets from the kitchens and hunt the slippery little things in the woods. They walked through the glass garden for a time, talking of Lord Stark’s new position. Jon seemed withdrawn, but Heikki never got the chance to ask the lad what troubled him; Lord Stark had found the three of them splitting a cobbler by the onions and asked to speak with Heikki privately. 

And now he was riding south with Lord Stark and his daughters, and a Horde of Knights and Freeriders, and the _King_. Also riding to Kings Landing was Queen Cersei and her children, and the Lannister brothers. All the men rode around the Queen’s carriage, a massive thing carved intricately, with silk curtains on the windows and wheels that creaked at every pebble in the road. 

-

The journey back to the city would be at least three weeks long- if the weather was ideal. Heikki spent much of his time riding behind Lord Stark and the King while they spoke. He took his meals with the other men, a rowdy crowd of southern fighters and servants who laughed loudly and ate at even higher volumes. Himself and the few others Lord Stark had gathered from Winterfell ate and rode together in quiet companionship.

On the seventh day of their journey they stopped among hilly country around dusk, the brightness of the world intermittently changing when clouds passed overhead. Then it began to rain. 

Heikki was away from the road when it came down, picking apples that he’d found while relieving himself. He walked back through the downpour knowing he’d be soaked by the time he made it back to camp. It was worth the trouble though, Heikki found as he bit into one of the apples; a crisp, golden inside. Perfectly sweet and tart all at once. 

Humming to himself as he walked past the tree line, Heikki blinked, and found himself surrounded by utter chaos. The horses were playing in the mud, their ropes dragging behind them as servants and soldiers alike scrambled to set up tents and keep supplies dry. The Queen’s dress had gotten mud splattered on it, and she was fuming at the Kingslayer and the servants. 

“It’s not everyday I get to see my sister without her dignity about her,”

Heikki looked down to see Lord Tyrion. He was swirling a waterskin, using his hand to shield it from the rain. The youngest Lannister looked like a pleased cat, though he was soaking wet. 

“It must be a crime to look at her now.” Heikki said, and Lord Tyrion laughed. 

“Where did you find those?” 

Heikki wondered if offering a Lord an apple would somehow cause offense. He tossed him one anyways. “In that stretch of woods over there. No worms.” 

“Lovely,” Tyrion bit into it. “Oh, lovely indeed.” 

Heikki concurred with a hum. The two men stood and ate, their clothes soaked through as the rest of the world moved. 

“I thought you went to see The Wall, Lord Tyrion.”   
  
Tyrion brushed his fringe away from his eyes, and Heikki could see they were each a different color. “I did. I only caught up to this merry gathering today.” 

“What’s your name?” 

“Heikki Ashwood, my Lord.” 

“Hayk-kee?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“You have what is quite possibly the most Northern name I’ve ever heard, and I know the _Starks_.” 

“I hail from north of Winterfell.”

“Of course you do.” Tyrion snorted into what Heikki now knew to be his wine. He had heard legendary things about Tyrion’s tolerance for the drink. 

Heikki ate his apple. “No offense, my Lord _Tyrion_ , but I have never met one with such a Southern name as yours _.”_

Tyrion choked, and spat a stream of red wine into the grass. When he recovered, he handed the drink to Heikki. “None taken, Master _Heikki_.”

“Thank you, my Lord.” 

The wine was sweeter than anything he’d ever tasted, even the peaches from the Glass Garden. 

“Some of the other men have started to call me Henry. They say it is easier to remember.”

Tyrion’s face wrinkled in distaste. “Henry? It does not suit you.” 

The rain had slowed to a drizzle during their conversation, and now it stopped entirely. The air was suddenly loud and grating with the sounds of their party. Heikki screwed the cap on, and gave the wine back to Tyrion. He put in his hands also another apple. 

“For your breakfast tomorrow. Goodnight, Lord Tyrion.”

-

The next morning was slow to start. Heikki spent it lugging Royal chests and boxes about, and undertaking the honor of re-shoeing Prince Joffrey’s horse. The steed was young and unseasoned to travel, and in it’s fright it had kicked a shoe. 

Hammering away at it was where Tyrion found him. “Good morning Master Heikki.” 

“Good morning, Lord Tyrion. To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

“I am simply looking for good conversation,” Tyrion bit into his apple. “I did not take you for a stable boy.” 

Heikki grinned at him. “My father is Lord to a small estate. We happen to have many horses.” 

“Hm. If I may ask, why are _you_ traveling South?” 

Tyrion Lannister was an observant man. “The Lord of Winterfell asked me to accompany him in the South, for a time.” 

“That’s a nice way of putting it. I wouldn’t trust my family either,” Tyrion leaned against a nearby crate. “You Northerners must be the last bunch with honor.”

“Anyone can have honor. Southerners have alcohol that’s _sweet._ ” 

Tyrion chuckled, covering his mouth in a decidedly undignified attempt to keep pieces of apple from flying everywhere. 

-

The next week was uneventful. Heikki rode with the other men and behind Lord Stark some days, and helped the real stable boys when he could. He also learned that the large man who he’d seen in the corridor at Winterfell was called the hound, overhearing the crown prince bragging to the knights about his “guard dog” winning in tourneys. He was beginning to worry for Lady Sansa, who was spending the journey by Joffrey’s side.

One morning while Heikki was trimming his sideburns, Ned Stark paid him a visit. 

“My Lord,” he rose.

“Don’t stop on my account, Heikki. I came to ask something of you.”

Heikki nodded. 

“Arya wishes to ride with you today. I’ve told her that the men must ride around the Royal family, but she won’t hear it. Do you think…?” 

“Of course my Lord,” Heikki smiled. “It’s in my job description, anyways.” 

Lord Stark clapped him on the shoulder and left. When Heikki mounted his horse that day, he rode past the soldiers and the Royal carriage, past the Lannister brothers to Arya. 

“Kiki!” She waved him over. 

“Good morning, my Lady.” 

Arya rolled her eyes. “Not you, too. Just call me by my name.” 

“If you insist, Arya.” 

“I wish I had been able to speak with you more since we left home, but father wouldn’t allow me to see you until I threatened to cry. I don’t think he knows how to deal with tears, that was always mother,” she frowned. 

“Kiki, I must tell you about what Jon gave me, but you can’t speak of it to anyone else.” 

Heikki nodded solemnly. “I wouldn’t tell a soul.” 

Arya looked ahead to her father, who was listening to King Robert talk rather loudly about the women in King's Landing, then behind. When she knew the coast was clear, she rode closer to Heikki and leaned over. 

“Jon gave me a sword. It’s my Needle.” 

“Needle?” Heikki’s face broke into a wide grin. “A fine name for a fine blade. In your chest?” 

“Yes, you mustn’t tell _anyone._ Not even my father.” 

“I swear to you, I won’t speak of your needle. I’ll even help you practice sewing, at least until we find someone better.” 

Arya’s eyes widened. “Really?” 

“Of course, and there will be many great swordsmen in the city; far better than me, at least.” 

-

“Good evening, Master _Kiki.”_ Tyrion greeted cheerfully, stopping in front of Arya where she sat on the ground, knees hugged to her chest. 

“Good evening Lord Tyrion.” Heikki said from behind the girl, where he worked a particularly stubborn knot from her hair. 

“Are you her new nanny?” 

“Septa pulls on my hair too hard, and then pesters me to brush it more,” Arya huffed, “And all the other ladies try to style it. Make my head into an eyesore more like. Plus, Kiki has slender fingers.”

Tyrion’s eyes moved to Heikki, amused. He raised a brow. 

“I have three younger sisters,” Heikki said, and gathered some of Arya’s hair to keep it away from her eyes, tying it into a half-ponytail. “There, just as a knight. Run along and get supper now, Ser Arya.” 

“To what do I owe the pleasure, my Lord?” Heikki asked once she was gone. 

“I came to see if you would share a meal with me- I find I am sorely lacking in good company as of late.” 

“Of course.”


End file.
